


the ⨓𝒶∕𝓁

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Cancer, Caring, Dragging themselves along the ground, F/M, Heartbreaking, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series, Suggestive Themes, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23691694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: Strong and determined as ever while battling cancer and its treatment's toll, Jackie ends up needing to give Gil a call for assistance while she's at home during the day. Pre-series. A story of strength.This is a heavy blanket with light spots that come from two people being so in touch and loving each other very much. Going in, please be prepared for a heavy subject that can be heartbreaking.For Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt Dragging Themselves Along the Ground.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo
Kudos: 5
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	the ⨓𝒶∕𝓁

Ten steps from the bedroom to the bathroom. Another five to get out into the hall. Twenty to get over the lip between the walnut floor and tile to the kitchen. All along the way, holding the wall for balance, support. Winded every few steps, leaving her wondering if this was the day she wouldn't be able to take another on her own.

The house was eerily quiet by herself, the sizzle of bacon and sweet promise of pancakes missing as she worked to put on fresh coffee. A post-it waited for her on the counter. _I’ll make chicken adobo for dinner. Soup in fridge. ♡G_

Jackie fixed her cup of coffee and walked the five steps to sit at the kitchen table. She didn’t like waking up at eleven, barely having the energy to make it to the kitchen. Didn’t like that she wasn’t able to go to work seeing her patients and helping them get the services they needed. Didn’t like that her days now consisted of more solitude than friends, more quiet than vibrance.

But she was alive.

She had no complaints about that.

She reached into her pocket to thank Gil for the note, but came up empty.

 _Shit_.

She’d left her cell phone in the bedroom.

He’d worry. Wonder if she was doing okay, if she needed anything. “I can take care of myself,” she’d remind him, but she’d also welcome the brief company of a text, a call if he got the chance. It’d probably be the only conversation she’d have all day until he got home. She was more likely to hear from friends in the evening or on the weekend. Everyone was busy working.

Jackie left her coffee at the table and pushed herself to standing. Started the thirty steps back to the bedroom to get her phone. Stupid, stupid, stupid — she didn’t need this today. But it wasn't like she'd planned a grand schedule either. Too disappointing when she couldn't meet it.

Her hand glided along the counter, keeping her balance as she walked back toward the hall. Gone were the days of dancing freely and spending hours on her feet. Lately, point A to point B was exhausting.

She let go of the silestone to transfer to the wall. Another step forward to reach, and her slipper met the lip going back to the walnut and dipped her off balance. Pitching forward, her hands shot out in front of her to try to lean into the wall, but she missed, sending her toppling to the hardwood.

Her hands broke her fall underneath her, her right wrist twisting to a painful angle to punctuate the experience. Her shoulder and hip protested down her right side, having made direct contact when she crumpled to the floor. As slow motion as it was, the impact pulsed pain through her like she'd been running.

Ten years in that house, and features they loved were coming back to haunt her — they weren’t familiar anymore. When they’d bought it, they hadn’t thought that one day they might be less mobile. That she’d end up like this.

Alone on the floor.

Trying to figure out if her level of pain was a typical bump or something more serious.

She didn’t cry.

All her tears were somewhere with days she and Gil had briefly allowed themselves to grieve over her diagnosis, days she was so sick nothing was manageable, days she didn’t know if the next day would come but was too scared to tell him.

This was not one of those days.

She lay still a moment, catching her breath while the walnut chilled her face, assessing bit by bit from her feet to her head if she was hurt.

 _Everything_ hurt.

Chemo had a lot to do with that. Her strong body was so damn fragile. Skin bruised and ripped so easily. An unfelt tap and sometimes she’d end up with a welt or a stain on her clothing. It didn’t hurt, but discovering the remains while she rubbed lotion into her forever papery dry skin was unsettling.

A crash to the floor, and who knew what she’d find.

She tried not to think about it, instead gathering enough strength to lift her head and look where she’d landed. Looked to the walls she didn’t want to modify with handrails, her cane abandoned beside the front door, her walker tucked away in the living room for longer outings. Looked for anything that could be a tool to help.

But she wasn’t that lucky.

And she couldn’t get up on her own.

Between walking and the fall, all her energy was drained. She didn’t have the strength to push herself back to her feet, and there wasn’t anything nearby to pull on to help her up. The back of her head taunted that her husband had been right, of course, and handrails may have been prudent. She still didn’t want them. Her wrist ached so much she didn’t know if it’d be any use anyway.

She resigned to rest a few more minutes until she could try to move.

Ten became twenty became thirty, and the pain concentrated down to her wrist and side. She could breathe fine, and nothing was overly painful beyond her wrist, so she decided she was fine, just tired.

Time to get a move on. She'd spent long enough looking at the baseboards that needed a fresh paint job. She twisted to attempt a crawl, but her injured wrist throbbed with her body over it, even without touching the floor, and the pain along her right side made it fairly useless. She abandoned the idea and turned to her uninjured side, deciding on a different technique to start the trek to something she’d be able to get enough leverage against to get up.

One — she dragged her arm behind her to pull her body along in a shrimp toward the bedroom. Her feet pushed against the floor and her hips shifted enough that she moved in the right direction.

Two — her elbow bumped against the floor repeating the motion. A hard clunk and a slow slide inched her further along.

Every combination of pull with her arm, push with her feet got her a bit closer to her final destination. It was incredibly slow going, needing to stop for breath every few pulls, and the drag along her side felt like floor burn at times, but there was no doubt in her mind —

She was doing this.

She would get to the bedroom, get into bed, and call her husband.

Goddammit if there was any other option she’d accept. She had a reputation to uphold to _herself_.

The goal kept her moving despite how tiring it was to slither and how much she wanted to damn this wretched thing called cancer that had fucked with her life every way imaginable.

She grabbed the doorway with her good hand to pull herself into the bedroom, pushed off the wall with her feet to get onto the rug underneath the bed, used the bed frame to pull herself to sitting —

And took a deep breath. Two…three…

She brushed sweat away from her face with her sweater sleeve and pushed the moisture back into her fuzzy hair.

Another deep breath — two...three...

She thought of using her legs and pushing up against the mattress to get into bed, but after the journey, decided the plush rug was good enough.

Some concessions were acceptable. She wasn’t Superwoman, despite the number of times her husband had called her that.

When her breathing returned to normal so she didn’t sound like she’d run a marathon, she stretched for her phone on the nightstand and made the call.

“Hi, honey,” Gil greeted, background noise getting further away.

“I’m sorry, I — “ Jackie started. She probably should’ve taken an extra minute to figure out what she would say.

“What is it?” his voice dipped to concerned, and she could see his brow furrow in the look that’d appeared too many times lately.

“I’m okay." She got the important part over with first. "But I took a tumble like an idiot and messed up my wrist,” she rattled out, adding a soft self-deprecating chuckle.

“Jac — “ She could hear the buzz outside the precinct, the jingle of keys.

“Really — I’m okay.” She bit her lip, confirming her statement as she reminded herself she could be in more pain — things could be worse. “I just need a ride to get this looked at.”

“I’m coming,” he promised, an undercurrent of unease in his voice, and she heard the door shut on the LeMans.

Faced with the prospect of quiet again, her resolve to wait out the half hour by herself dissipated. “Can I — talk to you while you drive?”

“Of course, honey,” his tone deepened at the affectionate term. “I’ll be there soon.” She heard his phone go on speaker and the rumble of the car starting.

She closed her eyes, mostly engine and stray comments between them, waiting for her husband to arrive. His voice broke through the stifling silence, reminding her she wasn’t alone.

* * *

The front door nearly hit the wall when Gil rushed in, his eyes frantically scanning the living room and kitchen. Not finding his wife, he strode toward the bedroom and paused in the doorway when he saw her huddled on the floor, her knees pulled into her chest. “Jackie,” he comforted, kneeling beside her on the rug. One hand wound into the soft hairs at the back of her neck, his other resting on her shoulder.

“I’m okay.” She closed her eyes and he kissed her forehead at her hairline.

He pulled back a little, trying to digest how hurt she was. “Let me see.”

Her arm was cradled across her lap, her normally thin wrist puffed up with swelling and purpled bruising.

“It looks broken,” he noted.

“That’s what I figured.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Let’s get you to the ER.”

“Could you get the walker?” Jackie asked.

Gil took pause at the aid she rarely requested. “I can help you up,” Gil indicated.

“I’m not going to be able to walk back to the living room,” Jackie shared in defeat. “I’m hoping I can sit in it, and you can push me.”

The walker’s folding seat had saved them several times when they were out and couldn’t find benches nearby. It also doubled to help carry things. “The Ferrari model,” she had joked when he bought it for her, but he wouldn’t skimp on her comfort, her safety, her ability to stay in touch with the world she loved.

Gil knew it took her a lot to ask for it, and he suspected she was in more pain than she was letting on. He cupped her cheek, brushing her smooth skin with his thumb. “I can carry you out to the car. Pack the walker. Save your energy for the hospital.”

Jackie bowed her head a little and nodded.

He slipped one arm under her legs, the other across her back, and lifted her from the floor and into his chest, unable to ignore the pang in his stomach that his wife was lighter than ever. She rested her head against his shoulder and steadied her wrist across her middle. “Arroyo express,” Gil said, kissing her hair.

“Spoiling me.”

“No such thing.”

He made quick work of carrying her through the house, careful not to jostle her too much.

“Hat or no?” he asked at the stack near the door.

“No.”

Gil got her into the passenger seat and made a second trip back to get her walker and an ice pack. He loaded the walker into the trunk, wrapped her wrist in the icepack, and they set off for the hospital.

* * *

Gil was in ultimate protector mode pushing Jackie into the emergency room while she sat on her walker, holding her close while waiting for her to be called back, and helping her onto a bed when it was her turn to be seen. She was left with a gown to change into to go for some x-rays.

“Do you want me to step out a minute?” Gil asked, always giving her the option.

“No.” She smiled and shook her head. “Can you help me get this off?” she asked, peeling at the bottom of her sweater.

He carefully pulled it up and over the top of her head, revealing her bruised side in the process.

“What happened?” Gil questioned while she used her good arm to remove the sleeve from her bad arm.

“I fell.”

He gave her his best no nonsense look while he helped remove the sleeve from her good arm, kicking himself that in his concern to get her to the hospital, he hadn’t asked just how she had landed in this predicament.

“I tripped in the hallway,” she said plainly.

He stilled as visions of Jackie crawling through the house to get help swarmed through his mind. She’d needed him, and what had he been doing, supervising an interrogation? Or was it even earlier when they had been bullshitting around the conference table over lunch? He met her eyes and soothed the back of her good hand with his thumb. “I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t there.”

Her eyes flared, telling him she meant business. “Nonsense.”

His eyes swam with regret, pools clouding his vision that threatened to spill. He took a moment swallowing to try to press one of his greatest fears back into his stomach — that she'd be in a dire situation in need of his help, and he wouldn't be there.

She squeezed his hand. “You can’t be my shadow. I prefer my partner in not crime.” He saw her smile in the crinkle around her dark eyes.

Gil gave a watery smile, turned his head away, and took a deep breath. Swallowed again when it still didn't do the trick. Changed the subject, eking out, “The doctor should look at that.”

“It’s just bruises. They’re going to tell me to eat more kale.” She was strong as fucking ever, and he had no idea how she did it. He was ready to fall apart over his misstep, but he could keep himself together for her.

“Your favorite.” Gil’s fingers traced outside the edge of the purple. “Can I take a look?”

“Living out a doctor, patient fantasy?” Jackie teased.

“Had enough of that reality for one lifetime.” They’d both had far, far more than enough and there was still more to go. His Superwoman. Frailer, but still as mighty as ever.

He followed the bruising from her shoulder, down a few spots on her right side, disappearing into the top of her pants. He carried his gaze over to her other side to find a skinned elbow and another raw spot on her forearm. Banged up, yes, but she seemed in good spirits — things could have been worse.

“I’m so sorry,” he kissed her forearm, held her good hand.

“I’m okay.” She squeezed his hand. “I do need to put that on though.” She tipped her head toward the gown that sat on the bed. “Save the show for you.” She smirked.

He shook his head at her teasing and grabbed the gown. He helped her arms through the holes and tied it in the back. The task finished, he sat beside her in a chair.

“Two hours,” she said, a hint of a smile at her lips.

“You’re Cinderella, not the pumpkin — “

“My bet on when we’ll get to go home.” She turned her head toward him.

“I’ll say one and a half,” he countered. “Seems pretty efficient so far.”

“You’re on." She gave a pleased smile. "Winner gets sex of their choice.”

Gil shook his head. “What’d they give you?”

She stuck her tongue out at him from the corner of her mouth. “I’m serious.” She chuckled.

“Oh, I know. You’re here — ” He gestured around them. “And somehow _fine_.” Working very hard to appear that way, he knew. How much she was doing it for him versus how much she was doing it for herself, he wasn’t sure.

“Lounge chair. Keep you on edge ’til — “

“The nook.”

“You interrupted amazing head for the nook? Priorities, sir — “ She rolled her eyes at him.

“If you’da let me finish — “

She laughed, bringing the curtained space a warmth that seemed so foreign in a hospital. The same warmth she brought him whenever they were together.

He smiled back, hoping she could feel the same warmth from him. “Rest, honey.” He kissed the back of her hand, knowing her brave face needed to relax. “I’ve got you.”

“Wake me when I win.”

* * *

There wasn’t a discussion about using a cane in the house. Wasn’t mention of taking it easy for a few days. Wasn’t talk of helping her inside after he woke her from another nap in the car.

Jackie wouldn’t hear of it. And in most ways, Gil understood — he wouldn’t want his decisioning power taken away either. He slid a supportive arm around her back and they walked to the house. A little slower than normal, but still very much there.

She picked up her grey cane from inside the front door when she entered and continued on to the bedroom.

Gil followed. Changed into sweatpants and sat under the covers, the bare skin of his back resting against pillows he propped up near the headboard.

Jackie emerged from the bathroom in a long t-shirt and curled up next to him, resting her face in the fuzz of his chest. He pulled the sheets over her and kissed the top of her head.

“So how exactly is that going to work?” Gil asked, tracing circles on her back.

“You’re going to sunbathe, and I’ll make sure you’re attended to,” she murmured.

“Can — “

“Too many questions for you to be surprised,” she complained with a joking lightness to her voice, her fingers poking out of her cast rubbing into his side.

“Leave it to you to spend your winnings on me.”

“Like you weren’t going to do the same,” she teased back. She took a long, deep breath that tickled his chest hair when she let it out. “Adobo tomorrow?”

“Sure.” He rubbed a foot against her leg. “I think I’ll take the day off.” Make her breakfast, be sure she was as okay as she said, enjoy time with his wife.

“Gil — “

“ _One_ day.”

“You should save them.”

They both went quiet, turning to small touches of comfort and calming strokes that drooped their eyes. They fell asleep against each other, nestled together in their combined warmth.

* * *

_fin_


End file.
